


Marry Me

by relic_amaranth



Series: Marry Me [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Attempted mutilation, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Marriage, Multi, Polyamory, Pre-Poly, Reader Peril, Reader-Insert, Rescue, Stabbing, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26557642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: You love your fiancé, but you don’t necessarily love the danger that follows him. Well…one part of it is all right, you suppose. One person specifically.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Reader
Series: Marry Me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931425
Comments: 14
Kudos: 86





	Marry Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is all id satisfaction. I have no excuse; I’m just a sucker for a good rescue and some hurt/comfort. It’s funny though– I first wrote another part of this little story intending it to be a stand-alone and then went ‘hmm…better do some backstory,’ so I wrote this as a prequel, and then went, ‘hmm…needs a connecting part,’ so this might be two parts, might be three. We shall see! That’s why it’s in a series instead of a multi-chapter single work; that gives me more flexibility in case I do two parts and later reconsider and insert the middle part that has yet to be conceived. Anyway; big timeskips are labeled, little timeskips/scene changes are marked with single tildes. Please mind the warnings but otherwise enjoy.

You _were_ having a really good day.

“The future Mrs. Rogers, I presume?”

Past tense is key, in this case. It has gotten so bad so fast that it hasn’t gotten turned on its head so much as it has been suplexed into concrete.

You're surrounded on all sides by serious (and seriously built) men and you’re pretty sure they’re all armed. Hanging around Natasha and Clint has taught you that just because you can’t see the weapons doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

“Please, come with me,” the mouthpiece, a bald man somewhere in his 40’s or 50’s and with a body visibly sturdy and strong even under his tan suit, says and extends his hand.

“No,” you say and cross your arms.

He raises one of his ludicrously thin eyebrows. “It would be better for you to cooperate.”

You shake your head and try to think of the best way to get at your phone.

“ _GET DOWN_!”

Even though you don’t immediately recognize the voice, you’ve been around Clint far too much to _not_ have an instinct to obey that particular command.

(The development of said instinct has left you with a small scar on your shoulder and a general understanding in the Tower that if Clint has his bow out in your presence and it isn’t an emergency, Steve _will_ destroy it.)

You curl up into a ball as shouts and thuds and crashes and aborted gunfire sound above and around you. Gravel digs into your cheek but you try to press even closer to the ground, even when it gets quiet.

A hand sets on your shoulder and you flinch. “Sorry,” the voice says. He sounds gentle, so you look up with a cautious sense of hope.

You gasp at _who_ it is. “Bucky?”

His smile is pained, but he holds out his hand and helps you up. “I guess Steve told you at least some of it.” He looks back and frowns, then faces you. “I’m sorry but we’ve gotta go.”

“I should call Steve,” you say and pull out your phone.

“No. In fact–” Bucky snatches it from you and tosses it into a nearby garbage bin. You barely get out an offended yelp before he’s dragging you along.

“They’re tracking it,” Bucky says, speeding up. “And they’ll be back soon.”

You get to a motorcycle and Bucky grabs a helmet and holds it out towards you. “I know Steve doesn’t have a lot of reasons to trust me right now, but please. I want to help.”

You take the helmet, because you trust the latter sentence. And it’s not his fault he’s wrong about the former. You think you’re the only one who actually knows why.

_~flashback~_

Steve is a little stiff, but before you can even offer to help him settle he lies down and pulls you in. You bring the sheets up and he gets the light before you both curl up together.

“How are you feeling?” you ask and run your hand over the already-scarred gash on his upper chest.

“I’m fine. I’ll be healed over by tomorrow.” He takes your hand and kisses it. “Don’t worry.”

“I won’t about that,” you say. “But I wasn’t talking physically. Where’s your head at?”

He sighs but chuckles, and you can feel the sound rumble through his body. “I can’t ever get one past you, can I?”

“Nope.” You poke his chest. “And shame on you for thinking you could.”

“Sorry.”

“Well?”

He sighs again. Such a drama queen. Then again, he’s earned the right. “I got a letter. From Bucky.”

You lift your head. Steve continues to stare at the ceiling though, so you settle back down. “A postcard from Cancun, I hope.” You run your hand up and down his arm. “He could use a vacation.”

“Natasha tracked it to Oymyakon.”

“That sounds cold.”

“Probably.” Steve remains unfocused. “He says he’s fine. Still wants to be left alone.”

You move your hand down to clasp his. “It’s nice that he’s keeping in contact.”

“I think you’re the only one that thinks so.”

Aside from the obvious, but you make a non-committal hum. “He’s someone you’re incredibly close to, even now, and I know he loves you like you love him.” You shrug one shoulder. “He’ll come around in time. I believe that.”

Steve turns on his side and stares at you like you’re a wonder. That’s a look that never gets old, even if you do fidget from the weight of it. “I’m always amazed at how much you put up with by being with me.”

“I’m less fond of the throwing vehicles at bad guys. I’m more okay with ‘love of your life’ comes back and has to work shit out.” You kiss him and he holds you there for something deeper.

“I love _you_ ,” he says when you pull back.

“I know,” you say. “And I love you too. I love how much love you have. If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be here.” You smile as you catch sight of the card on your corkboard. “And at least we know Bucky feels the same.”

Steve rolls his eyes and huffs. “I can’t believe he sent _you_ a “Happy Anniversary” card.”

You grin. “You’re just mad he beat you to it.”

_~end flashback~_

You don’t know where you are but the basement is small and derelict and Bucky is taking as much time to check it as you imagine he would an airplane hangar. You stand in the center of the room and try not to flinch at moving shadows only barely visible through the mostly-boarded half windows.

“Here,” Bucky says appearing so suddenly you jump. “Sorry,” he says and puts a phone in your hand that has the heft of something from the early nineties but also somehow looks _very_ high tech. “We have a few minutes. Call Steve, tell him you’re safe. Then I need to talk to him.”

Bucky calling Steve should be a moment of absolute _joy_ , and you resent the fuck out of those assholes for ruining the moment. Still, you dial Steve’s number with shaking fingers, and when he answers you finally feel yourself calm. “ _Steve_.”

The steady captain is gone as he says your name in a panic. “Are you all right?! Someone called and told me–”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you say. “Bucky saved me.”

There’s two seconds of silence, and then: “What?” Before you can answer though, Steve asks, “Where are you?”

You look at Bucky, who shakes his head and rolls his hand like ‘wrap it up.’ You swallow hard and start talking fast. “Some Hydra guys cornered me on my shortcut home and–” you can _hear_ Steve tense up, “–don’t you fucking start with me right now; _anyway_ , Bucky showed up and saved me.” Bucky holds out his hand. “I’m going to pass you to him now; I just wanted to tell you I’m safe and I love you.”

You hand the phone over. Bucky greets Steve with a gruff utterance of his name, and his voice doesn’t get any less stiff as they have a short conversation. Maybe now isn’t the time for romance, but you think you might have to give him pointers in the romance category regardless– that is not how you greet/talk to your long-lost love.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Bucky asks and you tune back in. “Fine. But I’m not handing her off to anybody but you. We’ll be there as quick as we can dodge them.”

There’s a ‘thump!’ somewhere above you. Bucky slips the phone away and motions for you to be quiet. You don’t move, you barely breathe, but when Bucky crouches and starts to move, your heart flips. He motions for you to stay put, and you feel his desire to keep you safe is very much genuine, so…you’re not _happy_ about it, but you keep still even as he leaves.

Time passes too slowly when everything is so silent that every creak makes you almost jump. Then– footsteps come your way. The footfalls are bold, heavy, rushed. You look around but a place to hide has not miraculously materialized. Thankfully it’s Bucky who opens the door. Not so thankfully, he grabs your arm and drags you out of the room. You stumble to suddenly keep pace. “Do you think you can share your plans so you _don’t_ yank me all over the place?”

“Sorry,” he says, distractedly. “No time.” He leads you up two flights of stairs and down a hallway. The entire building is boarded up, making it hard to see much of anything with what little light peeks in through missed holes. He suddenly picks you up and under your involuntary “ack!” you can hear the crunching of glass under his boots.

“Shh.” He puts you down. He opens a door, does another look around, and then gestures for you to enter.

To say it’s a closet would be _generous_. You hesitate, but slip in and face him. Bucky’s almost large enough (or the “room” is small enough) that he could _be_ the door. “You need to stay here, and stay quiet, until I come back for you. Understand?”

“‘Back?’” you repeat.

“Yeah. I gotta clear a path for us but–” He grips your shoulders. “If– _if_ I go down and they find you…you need to surrender.”

You stare at him. “I know,” he says. Unquestionably serious, much to your displeasure. “But let’s be honest– you can’t do much to them and you’ll only get hurt if you try. Surrendering might get you treated better. They want you so they can fuck with Steve.”

You hate _that_ so much your face twists into revulsion all on its own. Bucky even huffs a little laugh at it. “I know, doll, trust me; I know. But the goal now, if we can’t make it out, is to hold on until Steve can get to you.” He grips, and then lets his hands slip away. “I’ll do _everything_ it takes to make sure you get home.”

Before he can run away you grab his arm. It’s hard and tense in your hands but he stops and you make sure he’s looking right at you when you say, “Not _everything_ , Bucky. Please.”

He looks startled, but before he can speak there’s a ‘bang!’ from down the hall. “Stay down!” is the last thing you hear him say before he pushes you back in the closet and slams the door.

~

The cacophony has stopped.

Bodies slamming, bullets firing, and shouting in various languages has faded to nothing, leaving a vague ringing in your ears and a headache just starting to form. You wait, enclosed in musty darkness, hoping for a sign of life. But Bucky doesn’t come, and a knot starts to form in your throat.

That knot solidifies when you hear footsteps coming down the hall at a steady, slow pace. You want to cry, but you muffle yourself even when the deliberate, unfamiliar steps stop right in front of your hiding place.

_Knock._

_Knock._

_Knock._

“Please come out peaceably,” the man who had cornered you in the alley earlier says.

There’s no audible sign of Bucky. Did he run out? Did he have to retreat? Is he going to get help? The alternative is so much worse you don’t know if you can stand it–

“If you would like to see the Soldier alive you will come out _now_.”

Bucky’s alive; he’s alive. You scramble up despite your body saying _‘no!’_ and put your hand on the rickety old knob. This is the worst situation you can imagine being in, and it’s only going to get worse, but Bucky’s alive and Steve is on his way.

You take a deep breath, and open the door.

~

You’re tied to a chair, arms to arms, legs to legs, upper body to chair back, and the cords are almost cutting into your skin. The one around your left ankle is a little loose, but you don’t know what to do with that– even if you could break that one, what are you going to do; hop out on one foot? No; the best you can do is be grateful that at least one of your extremities won’t die due to constricted blood flow.

You sigh and lean your head back.

“I apologize for the crude restraints,” the suited man, ‘Mynatt,’ says as he comes back to sit right in front of you. A few men are fiddling with something behind him, but you can’t see it. “But the Winter Soldier is a surprise we cannot afford to underestimate. Do not worry though– we will be settling you in more comfortable accommodations soon enough.”

You don’t like that at _all_. If they take you out of the city, will Steve be able to find you? Will he arrive before they hurt Bucky again? What _exactly_ do they need _you_ for?

It can’t hurt to try and ask. …Well, it technically can, but you _hope_ it won’t. “Why?” you say. “Why _do_ all of this? I don’t know anything.”

“Of course you don’t,” he says so condescendingly that you flinch so hard you hurt your arm in your instinctive desire to punch him. “It’s all right– you don’t _need_ to know anything.” Then he moves his chair a few inches to the side and you can see what those men have set up is…a camera.

Why is there a camera on you? You swallow a lump and try to ignore that little red light by focusing on Mynatt’s stupid smug face. You might not be able to punch it, but you are going to enjoy watching Steve do it. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll let you get a swing in too. “Then why am I here?”

“We think your fiancé has been working too hard.” Mynatt pats your hand, then _rests_ it there. “It’s good to remind him of what is truly important– family.”

The feel of his skin on yours is gross enough, but then he starts to rub his fingers over yours, paying special attention to your engagement ring. The way he smiles at it almost makes you want to dry heave. “That is a very lovely ring he gave you.” With his other hand he reaches behind himself and pulls out–

–a _knife_.

It’s a small blade, but shiny and sharp; you gasp as he moves it closer, but the cords hold _tight_. His smile grows when you start to struggle, the sick _bastard_. “We don’t want it to get lost, so I’ll return it to him for safekeeping.”

“No!” you yell and make a fist, but he forces your hand flat and someone behind you grabs your shoulders to hold them firmly to the back of the chair.

“Be still,” Mynatt chuckles and angles to make a cut. “We don’t need _all_ of your fingers.”

“ _NO_!” You pull as hard as you can on your arms and kick– and the loose cord at your ankle ‘snap!’s and your boot goes _right_ into his junk.

He yells and falls out of view as you're surrounded by the other people in the room. Every binding is checked and your leg is retied so tight it actively hurts, but you gain a few precious seconds to breathe.

Until Mynatt comes back and _stabs_ that knife into your upper arm. You scream so hard you almost throw up, and your voice gives out. You slump over, gasping and trying to ignore the fire-ice-throbbing-all-consuming _pain_.

It becomes impossible when he so much as grabs the handle– even that amount of pressure brings new tears. “Stupid bitch,” Mynatt sneers. “Now you’ll be able to compare which hurts more– being stabbed, or losing a finger. Perhaps I should take the entire hand. You! Get me a–”

A klaxon blares, and suddenly no one is looking at you. They rush around and you’re left to be alone in, well, not peace exactly, but at least Mynatt is out of your face and while the knife is still there, it’s not causing any _extra_ pain.

A bag or something is tossed over your head. It’s so haphazard you might be able to shake it off, but you don’t want to risk moving. You can only hope those alarms are bad for them and good for you, instead of just being bad for everyone. Is it Bucky? You hope it’s Steve. No offense to Bucky, but you need a very specific type of hug right now (and maybe a conversation about keeping your ring on a necklace).

The alarms cut out and leave you with an eerie amount of silence. There are noises from elsewhere but they seem so distant, and you don’t pay any real attention until you hear talking coming your way. You hear him. _You_ _hear him_.

“Steve?” You lift your head.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Steve says, right in front of you.

Something pulls at the cord wrapped around your upper body, making it tighter, and you cry out at the pressure that creates in your upper arm. “Steve, use a goddamn knife,” Sam says. “You’re hurting her.”

“Sorry; sorry,” Steve says and, with _much_ slighter preceding pressure, the straps start to fall away.

“It’s okay,” you say breathlessly. The hood is lifted and you blink against flashing red lights, but Sam is right in front of you and he’s a nice sight. “Thanks.”

“No pro–” Sam glowers to your side. “Steve, are _you_ a certified field medic?”

“No,” Steve replies quietly.

“Then get your hands _away_ from that knife. Trust me, Steve.”

As much as you hate having it there, you’re relieved when Steve takes his hands back and he and Sam switch places. You smile at him and he stops looking over you to look _at_ you. “Hi,” you say. “How was your day?”

He lets out a sad little laugh and takes your (good) hand in his. “I’m not gonna lie doll; it’s been terrible.”

“For once, I’m pretty sure mine was worse,” you say as Sam cuts the last two cords on your legs and both of them help you carefully scoot out a little.

“I don’t doubt it,” Steve says and kisses you. _That_ makes you feel better.

The feeling lasts all of ten seconds.

Something like an earthquake _shakes_ the building and knocks you all off balance. Steve catches you but apparently the knife didn’t stab as deep as it felt, a fact you unfortunately come to know when the blade slips out of your arm and you choke on the pain.

“Shit! Plan B,” Sam says and gets to work tightly wrapping your arm as blood spills out. When he finishes there’s an ache that goes too deep to let you feel any real sense of comfort, but you gain an approximation when Steve scoops you into his arms. It hurts, but the day is still on an upward swing.

“I know,” Steve says. “But we’re going to get you out of here and it’ll be better now. Okay?”

You nod– and gasp. “Bucky!”

“He’s out,” Steve says as he and Sam start to move. “Making trouble for us.”

“Like he does,” Sam mumbles in a very different tone.

“Sam–”

“He kept me safe for as long as he could.” You look right at Steve. “He’s very nice.”

Steve’s smile is strained. You can’t say you’re looking forward to the conversation to come, but you are grateful for the chance.

“I missed you,” you say and snuggle into Steve’s chest.

“I missed you too, sweetheart. So much,” he says and kisses you fiercely before he fastens the shield to his arm so that it covers as much of you as it can, and Sam takes the lead.

Your escape is fairly anticlimactic and that’s a relief. No one even shoots at you, but Sam still looks around every corner first, and covers you and Steve on your way out. The darkness is shocking, considering it was morning when you stepped out for your little (mis)adventure, but that explains why you’re so tired. Well, that and the blood loss, probably.

“The team’s pulling out,” Steve says.

“And Bucky?” you ask.

“Coming with,” Sam says as he starts the car and drives out slowly, without headlights. “Nat’s vouching for him.”

You sigh and settle in against Steve. “Can we go home?”

“Not until you get that shoulder patched up.”

You look up at Steve, pleading, because the ache is present but far more manageable than whatever is going to be done in the name of ‘fixing’ it. Steve smiles but shakes his head. He holds your hands in his, and continuously runs his fingers over your engagement ring.

“Yeah,” you say, only half paying attention to his ministrations. “At least I still have all my fingers.”

Steve inhales sharply and– oh, he probably didn’t know about that part.

Oops.

~

“Steve, I love you, but if you don’t settle down in the next thirty seconds I’m going to call Natasha and have her _make_ you settle down.”

Steve flumps onto his pillow but it means he stops ‘fluffing’ yours, so even if he is pouting it’s a net gain. You give him a kiss. “Thank you.”

“Are you sure you’re comfortable?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” you say. Steve stares at you and you shrug. Ow. “At least Clint isn’t the worst thing to happen to my arm.”

“Great,” Steve grumps and you hug him. Carefully.

“How did Bucky settle in?” you ask, eager to sidestep the issue while Steve is in a mood.

“He’s fine,” Steve says, looking at you with _too_ much focus. You turn your head and lean back to the doorway to see Bucky– dressed and with his backpack in hand– freeze.

You sit straight up and he scowls at Steve. “You are the shittiest liar I _ever_ met.”

“Some secret assassin you are,” Steve says with a hint of humor.

“You were going to just sneak out?!” After a moment you take your pillow and ‘thwap!’ it down on Steve’s face. The painful shockwaves are worth it. “And you were going to let him!”

Steve sputters excuses and you slide over to the edge of the bed. “Don’t get–” Bucky stops and sighs as you slip off the side. He crosses his arms as you approach. “You should be resting.”

“It’s all right; I need my pain pills anyway,” you say and hug him with your good arm, which makes Bucky relent enough to mirror the action. When you pull away, though, he’s frowning at your bandages. You roll your eyes; he and Steve certainly are a pair. “Don’t,” you say. “I would have been worse off without you. We both would have.”

Bucky’s expression goes flat. “Maybe,” he says as though unconvinced and slings the bag over his shoulder. “But they put me down with a word and I- I thought those were all gone. I gotta make sure they’re _all_ gone before I come back.”

“But you’ll come back?” you ask.

Bucky nods. “Yeah, I…I don’t think I _should_ , but I will.” His eyes flick to Steve and back to you, quick enough that he probably thinks you didn’t notice. You’re tempted to roll your eyes again. Dumb boys.

“Well, take care of yourself then,” you say. “And if you ever want a boyfriend, just keep in mind there’s a perfectly good one right here.”

You hadn’t _intended_ to make Bucky’s eyes bug out of his head, but considering how calculated all of his expressions have been thus far, it’s a little satisfying. “I’m not joking,” you’re quick to add. “Steve loves me but he loves you too. I’m okay with it.”

“That’s…a hell of a bomb to drop on me on my way out the door,” Bucky says slowly and looks at Steve.

“It’s not something you have to act on now. I just want you to keep it in mind. In case you meet some other cute guy, remember–” you Vanna White your fiancé, “–there’s one right here.”

“But it’s okay if you don’t want any of it, or want someone else,” Steve says. “We just want you to be happy, Buck. You deserve to live the life you want.”

Bucky’s eyes get pressed down by a furrowed brow and take on a slight shine. He looks at you, and you step aside. Bucky moves slowly, but sits on your side of the bed. “I don’t know that I deserve anything like this,” Bucky says quietly. “But…”

Steve’s eyes soften and he slowly moves his hand to just barely touch Bucky’s fingers. Bucky leans in and presses his forehead to Steve’s– snakes the briefest kiss you’ve ever seen– then pulls back and stands.

You have rarely seen Steve so happy. You puff out your chest. “I am the _best_ matchmaker.”

Bucky turns to you with a wry smile. “You haven’t even married him yet and you’re already trying to get rid of him.”

“Rid of? Oh _no_ ; if you want him you’re going to have to share.” Bucky looks at peace too though. You really are the best. “But if Steve’s happy and you’re happy then what’s the–” considering what a Negative Nancy Steve can be, you quickly rephrase, “–then there’s _no_ downside.” And, because you can’t help yourself: “Besides, you can help Steve remember our anniversary.”

“I remembered!” Steve protests and shoots Bucky a dirty look. “Your card got here _early_.”

Bucky looks at the card on the board and then at you. “ _Right_.”

You laugh, but somehow jolt your arm. “Ugh; pain pills. I’ll be right back.”

Before they can say anything, you steal away to the kitchen to down some pain relief and water. You take another moment to steel yourself– Steve is _such_ a worrywart and you don’t want Bucky to feel any guiltier than he already does.

When you get back to the room, though, Bucky is gone. You look down the hallway that passes right by the kitchen, and at the windows that are still locked with undisturbed curtains. “How did he–” You stop and sigh and trundle into bed.

“He didn’t want to take any chances with you,” Steve chuckles as he helps you get comfortable. Well, as comfortable as you can get. Steve rubs up and down the part of your arm that isn’t bandaged. It doesn’t do much for the dull ache but, somehow, it feels nice anyway. “He was afraid you’d talk him into bed.”

“Hmf. He’s too smart.”

“Yeah.” Steve is quiet for a few seconds. “Don’t worry; he’ll be okay.”

Steve’s certainty is interesting. “Who’s going with him?”

Steve’s hand slows to a stop. “…Natasha,” he admits.

You smile and shut your eyes, finally starting to relax enough to sleep. “Good pick. He really is smart.”

“Mm hm.”

“Good night Steve; I’ll see you in the morning.”

He kisses your forehead, feather light. “I can’t wait.”

_~some months later~_

It’s the worst day of your life.

Okay, no, actually, it’s the best day of your life.

You’re just a little stressed out.

“I don’t know why I’m panicking,” you say and flail. “Everything is fine.”

“Cold feet is perfectly natural,” Pepper says as she does her own lipstick at the vanity.

“I don’t think it’s that,” you say. “I kinda wanna grab Steve and run off to elope.”

Her eyes flick to you and even through a mirror you can feel the full force of her glare. You hold up your hands. “I’m not going to!”

She sighs. Poor Pepper; she’s been dealing with you all day. Maria had begged off and assigned herself guard duty just to get away from your neuroses and it looks like Pepper’s reaching her limit. She turns in her chair but just as she opens her mouth, a soft voice behind you says, “Knock knock.”

You gasp and jump up. Natasha, Actual Angel From Heaven, looks gorgeous– well, of course she does, but most importantly, she’s _there_.

“Natasha–” you whimper (no shame) and flail on your way over to hug her.

“You look beautiful,” she says. “I’m sorry we’re late.”

“It’s okay; I’m just glad you’re here.” You squeeze her and feel the relief that she made it back for this even in the middle of whatever else she was– oh, right. You reach out and feel around until you hit Bucky’s shoulder. You give it a few pats. “Hi Bucky I’m glad to see you too you look very handsome.” Whatever he’s wearing is probably very nice; Natasha wouldn’t be caught dead with him if he didn’t look good.

“Thanks doll,” he chuckles.

Natasha pulls you back and holds you at arm’s length to look you over. “How are you?”

“Oh, fine, I guess.” You wring your hands and try to look over your shoulder. “I think Pepper needs a vacation.”

“Pepper needs a drink,” Pepper says, but it sounds like a joke and she comes over to hug Natasha.

“Go,” Natasha says. “I’ll stay with the bride.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. Oh, and Pepper, this is James Barnes. James, this is Pepper Potts. Pepper, do you know where Steve is? James is going to join him.”

“I am?” Bucky asks.

“Try and leave without me James, I _dare_ you,” Natasha says in a tone you can’t imagine _anyone_ defying. More pleasantly, she says, “Since you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful.”

“I…guess I’ll go find Steve,” Bucky says and looks at Pepper, who smiles kindly and starts to lead him out.

“He’s smart,” you say and wave when he looks back.

Natasha chuckles. “Oh, I have stories for you.”

Bucky’s eyes go wide just before the door shuts behind them.

~

It’s the best day of your life.

Natasha calms you down with lots of fun stories (with most of the violence edited out, you suspect, and appreciate), Maria and Pepper both come back more relaxed, and the only nervousness you feel as you walk down the aisle makes you want to run _towards_ your very handsome groom at the end of it. You manage to remain dignified (Clint’s groan at losing his bet is almost as good as the kiss Steve pulls you in for) and the party is, of course, fantastic.

As the night winds down you go to find your wayward groom, and you stumble upon him having a moment with Bucky out on the patio. They’re not doing anything untoward– boring; you were only half joking and still mostly sober when you told him to find Bucky and go make out in a closet– but they’re alone and standing so close that you try to backpedal out of an obviously intimate conversation. Alas, Bucky sees you and pulls back, immediately waving you to come out.

You poke your head out of the door just to say, “No! Go back to whatever you were–” and Steve pulls you out with them, wrapping you up in his arms. Well, that’s nice but also _not_. But it also is. Your husband gives the best hugs.

“I gotta get going soon anyway,” Bucky says.

“Oh.” Steve’s arms loosen around you. “Are you going to be gone a while?”

“Probably not too long,” Bucky says. He rubs the back of his head shyly. “Natasha needs a break and I guess I can use one too. Steve says I can crash on your couch, if you don’t mind…?”

Steve’s arm is around you and lacking a tension that almost always courses through his veins. A magical day indeed. “Bucky, that would be _wonderful_ , I would–” You stop as you parse his words and whip your head to glare at Steve. “The _couch_? Are you trying to say something about the guest bedroom I _just_ fixed up?”

“He doesn’t deserve it.” Steve turns his nose up but his smiling ruins whatever he’s going for. “You should’ve heard what he said to me earlier, sweetheart; he deserves the couch.”

You look at Bucky and roll your eyes.

“Okay you can’t both do that at the same time; it’s creepy.”

You stay focused on Bucky. “It’s like he doesn’t even know us.”

Bucky smiles awkwardly and opens his arms, a little jerky and stiff, but you take the invitation respectfully. You rest your chin on his shoulder and say, “Thank you for coming Bucky; I’m so happy you were here.”

“So am I,” he says and gives your back a couple of gentle pats before stepping away. He smiles at Steve, looking somehow suave and boyish at the same time, and then aims that same smile at you. “Go take care of your husband. I’ll be back around.”

Steve takes your hand and laces his fingers in yours. You take a moment to smile at him– your _husband_ – but when you turn your head forward again, Bucky is gone. You look around a few places, because you’re out in the _open_ , but he is well and truly gone.

You scowl at your _husband_ and his response is to smile, sneaky bastard he is. He brings your hand up to his lips and kisses your knuckles. You don’t let him off the hook exactly…but how can you stay mad at him?

“We should get going,” he says, and you could not agree more.

~

The next morning you’re lounging in bed in the curtain-hidden haze of an early morning with Steve pressed up behind you, lazily moving across your stomach as his eyelashes flutter half-heartedly against the skin of your shoulder. You’re considering going back to sleep when you suddenly notice something on the side table right in front of you.

“What is it?” Steve asks, apparently more awake than you had thought, but you ignore him to grab the…

…card. The cover is white and pale pink with a curly but legible ‘ _Congratulations_ ’ embossed on the front. Typical Hallmark junk, but you open it up to read a short message in black pen and the signature makes you smile. It’s the post-script, though, that makes you chuckle.

_‘P.S. – Good morning. I hope you read this before Steve says it.’_

“Looks like Bucky beat you to the punch again,” you tell Steve and hold open the card to show him.

Steve mutters nonsense under his breath and snatches the card to chuck it behind him before he wraps his arm around you and tucks you against him. “Gonna give him a piece of my mind when I see him again.”

“Of course you are,” you say patiently and give your new husband a kiss before settling back into a peaceful, comfortable sleep.


End file.
